


Tea, Liver, and Glittery Death Threats

by sinivalkoista



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Birthday, Crack, John Is So Done, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson Friendship, Sherlock is a Brat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 17:53:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29953683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinivalkoista/pseuds/sinivalkoista
Summary: John Watson will not stand for liver in his tea so help him SHERLOCK.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3





	Tea, Liver, and Glittery Death Threats

**Author's Note:**

> Not the best, but you may derive amusement from this.  
> Written for a prompt.

“Well, what do you know?”

John looked up from his phone. Although he was sitting by Sally Donovan’s desk, waiting for Sherlock to finish giving his statement, he was unsure as to whom she was speaking. “What?”

“The freak’s birthday is next Friday,” she remarked as she slapped a file shut.

“Sherlock’s?”

It struck John that he didn’t know when Sherlock’s birthday was. Sherlock never mentioned it himself, and he was keen on keeping his medical records  _ away  _ from John.

“Yeah. Who else around here is a freak? It says so on this paperwork.”

“He isn’t a freak, but I didn’t know that.”

As if the mention of his name summoned him like a demon, Sherlock swept into the room.

When she caught sight of him, Donovan wrinkled her nose. 

Sherlock ignored her. “Come along, John,” he called, sailing past them like a hurricane. “ _ Now.”  _

Donovan sent John a sympathetic look as he pulled himself up from the chair. He gave her a brief smile before hurrying after Sherlock, who was already outside the building and hailing a cab.

“Wait up, Sherlock!”

All day long, they had been chasing a criminal — on foot. John was looking forward to returning to Baker Street and brewing a nice cuppa. Sherlock, on the other hand, seemed to be thrumming with some hidden energy underneath his skin. As the cab navigated through the crowded London streets, he drummed his fingers on the leather seat. As soon as the cab pulled up to the curb outside their flat, he bounded out, slamming the door behind him and leaving John to pay for their ride.

John added it to the mental list of things Sherlock owed him.

“What’s your rush?” John yelled up at Sherlock as both of them climbed the stairs. “You solved the case!”

“Wrong!”

John hurried up the last few steps and entered the apartment after Sherlock. “What do you mean, wrong? We spent all day chasing this Granger fellow and another hour at Scotland Yard giving our statements!”

“Wrong!” Hands clasped behind his back, Sherlock furiously paced the rug in the living room. “Granger isn’t the only one behind it all.”

John stood there a few more minutes longer, but Sherlock ignored him.

Personally, John didn’t see how Granger  _ wasn’t  _ the culprit they were looking for. The list of charges against him was longer than their grocery list.

“Think or get out.” Sherlock abruptly spun around.

_ “Please.”  _ John headed for the kitchen. Even though Sherlock was rude in his asking, he still wanted the tea, and he was determined not to be annoyed. When working on a case, Sherlock didn’t care about social niceties. 

Not that he did normally.

From muscle memory, John set the teapot on the front burner of the stove and turned the temperature on high. While the water gradually rose in temperature and volume, he rummaged around in the cabinet for the tea tin.

As the teapot began to hiss, Sherlock’s muttering mingled with it and rose and fell like an ocean tide.

The tea he was looking for wasn’t on the lower shelf, so John reached for the next, higher one and felt around with his hand.

Instead of hitting cold metal, his hand encountered something squishy and slightly moist.

“What’s this?” he murmured to himself. Curiosity aroused, he pulled the item from the cupboard.

It was a liver.

“Sherlock!” he bellowed, flinging it across the room. It landed with a splat on the floor.

His hand was sticky. He couldn’t imagine what the shelf in the cabinet was like. Who knew how long it had been there?

Sherlock was not going to ignore him now.

“SHERLOCK! Come here. Immediately!”

Behind his back, John heard Sherlock whirl around and stomp across the room until he was standing behind John.

“Yes?” he inquired icily in his baritone rumble.

“Oh, don’t act like that. You know what!” John snapped, his temper rising with the shrill scream of the teapot. “The liver!”

“Ah.” Sherlock crossed the room and picked it up.

“Ah?” After removing the teapot from the burner, John crossed his arms and stared at Sherlock.

“An experiment. During the height of this previous investigation, I must have... _ deleted  _ it from my mind palace.” Sherlock did not look or sound too concerned. 

John pointed to the ground. He didn’t know why, but it felt like it gave more emphasis to his words. “Sherlock, I am putting my foot down.” He ground his heel into the floor. “You can delete the neighbor, you can delete your birthday, but you cannot,  _ cannot,  _ I repeat, delete the memory of organs you leave in my tea cabinet! I put up with  _ many-”  _

As John Spoke, Sherlock, organ in hand, moved past him back into the living room.

John broke his rant off mid-sentence. “Sherlock!”

Further attempts to garner the consulting detective’s attention proved futile. Fuming, John slammed the cabinet door shut and, forgetting about the hot water and his cup of tea, stalked out of the room to his bedroom. Sitting on the bed, he pulled out his laptop and began typing furiously.

…

SHERLOCK DELETES ‘UNIMPORTANT’ INFORMATION — INCLUDING HIS OWN BIRTHDAY AND ORGANS IN MY TEA.

…

John quite forgot about his little rant on his blog until the letters and packages started flooding in.

Sherlock was not amused.

Like a cat receiving a bath, he prowled around the flat, throwing envelopes about. “You should have consulted with  _ me  _ before you published  _ my  _ birthday for the entire  _ world  _ to read!” he snapped.

John sipped from his cup of tea and did not comment.

“Rubbish,” Sherlock muttered. “ _ Nonsense.” _

“Well, that doesn’t clean up the living room.” John nodded to the precarious pile of stacked envelopes on the coffee table. “Have at it.”

“You want me to  _ read  _ them? Absolutely not.”

Sherlock sounded as though he had suggested he call Mycroft and invite him over for dessert.

“And leave your fans greeted in the great Sherlock Holmes?”

Sherlock scoffed. “I hardly care what they think.”

John wasn’t going to let Sherlock off the hook — not after the liver. “If you don’t read them, I’ll call Lestrade and tell him you haven’t been taking care of yourself. He will take you off cases for two weeks when he hears that, and you know it.”

After a period of inner debate, Sherlock snarled and snatched up the stack. He flung himself down into his armchair.

Sipping deeply, John smiled to himself again.

Carelessly, Sherlock tore open the first envelope and opened the enclosed card. “‘Dear Sherlock, happiest of happy birthdays to you. Your loving admirer, Jeannie Allens.’” He tossed the card over his shoulder and looked expectantly at John.

“Keep going.” John was rather enjoying the resulting payback of his little blog post.

Sherlock sent him a nasty look and tore open the next one. “Oh, marvelous,” he drawled, sliding its contents open. “ _ Such  _ a pretty greeting card!”

To John, it looked like a bomb covered in glitter by a four-year-old girl.

When Sherlock flipped it open, a cloud of glitter arose into the air. “ _ And  _ it’s a death threat! Of course it is, swaddled in  _ pretty  _ rainbow font and everything!” he mocked. He shut the card. “‘I hope you’re enjoying your birthday and your life, Sherlock Holmes,’” he read. Opened it. “‘Because it’s not going to last long.’”

John blinked. Of all things, that was the most unexpected. “That was...morbid.”

A devilish smile was forming on Sherlock’s face as he turned the card over in his hands.

“What?” John asked. “Is there something else written on it?”

“Yes. A strange symbol and what appears to be a chemical stain in the shape of the letter  _ p.” _

That was rather odd for a birthday card containing a death threat.

“Come, John.” Abruptly, Sherlock stood, scattering the remaining cards to the floor of the apartment. 

“What?” As Sherlock made for the front door, John blinked in surprise. “What? Sherlock!”


End file.
